


The God Who Hears

by LittleSongbird96



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, but like season 1 kind of people if that makes sense, case study, consider this an exploration on what kind of people get on the Blacklist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 22:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11930535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSongbird96/pseuds/LittleSongbird96
Summary: When does torture become love? Trust mean more than well-being? Worship being synonymous with horrors? Let us focus on the Blacklister for a moment.





	The God Who Hears

“His name is Nikolai Semenov. Russian mafia leader, he runs every criminal ring from St. Petersburg to the Mongolian border. Drugs, arms, dirty cops, they’re all in his pocket. Like many east European cartels, his seat in power is an heirloom. A title and way of life passed down for somewhere around 140 so odd years. In terms of longevity, there’s no contending with his family’s lineage in crime. And this charming man is the current patriarch.”

 

A brutish, scarred face stared back at them from the mugshot taped onto the glass.

 

“And?”

 

Reddington turned to raise his eyebrows at Ressler.

 

“Have you ever heard of the Semenov clan in Russia before?” a small quirk graced the corners of his mouth.

 

“Never heard of them.” the seasoned agent gruffly replied. The whole room knew a story was going to be presented.

 

“In the criminal world, the  _ greatest _ crime one could commit is that of betrayal. Betrayal of a certain magnitude is rare on this side of the fight, and its consequences fairly minimal in comparison.”

 

No one in the room missed the slightly apprehensive edge in his tone.

 

“But criminals have rely on trust far more often, they create it where they can, because betrayals occur much more often in the criminal world. The Semenov clan remedied the problem of betrayal generations ago. They found how to transform a total stranger into the perfect vessel of their trust.”

 

Another picture was pressed next to the mugshot. An online photo of a young woman with short hair, blue eyes, and a large smile wearing a silk dress with a bouquet of flowers.

 

“In enters Olivia Kilgore. This is her at her sister’s wedding. One evening when she was 19 she was abducted from a bus stop on her college campus in Texas. No one knew where she had gone or who had taken her. No ransom was issued and no leads of her whereabouts were found. No one knew she was even alive until this image was taken from a Moscow train station two years after she disappeared.”

 

Another printout was pressed to the glass. The same woman walked in a wool coat, her hair longer, the smile no longer present. Close to her in the grainy picture strode Nikolai Semenov.

 

“It’s been another three years since this picture was taken, and two weeks ago she surfaced in the Russian crime rings attached to Nikolai at the hip.”

 

“What’s her connection? Family member owed a debt, maybe she ran away and joined on her own accord?” Samar quipped from her desk.

 

“No.” Raymond resigned himself. “For all these generations, the Semenovs have created their own brand of trust by abducting and manipulating their victims to perfectly serve their captors. A potent blend of emotional, physical, and sexual manipulation. I knew Nikolai’s mother when she used the process on the man she would eventually join in holy matrimony. It’s quite common to marry the victim. And the victim, regardless of gender, takes the Semenov name and mantle.”

 

He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “That woman broke her husband and put him back together like a puzzle. The deepest hate turned into the fiercest love.”

 

“That’s Stockholm syndrome, not love.” Liz shot at Red. He only smiled.

 

“To them, love is the only word for it. Those poor men and women would gladly commit horrors most can’t dream of, all for the same people who tortured them. I tried asking  Tatiana for her methods, but she said it was a family secret. And whatever those methods are, they’re effective.”

 

He gave the room an expectant look.

 

Aram was the first to timidly speak up.

 

“How are they effective?”

 

Red smiled grimly. 

 

“Before she was taken five years ago, she was an English major in the theatre club. She knitted and rode a bike, went home every so often on weekends.”

 

He turned back to her picture.

 

“Her kill count is now 43.”

 

There was a quick intake of breath from the room. Raymond made no move to acknowledge it, and continued.

 

“When the train station picture surfaced, the trail went cold within hours. Now that they’re both back, we may have a chance to salvage this poor woman’s life. It’s still early, there might still be a shred of her in that head.”

 

Liz couldn’t accept the simple, altruistic reason. She rolled her eyes, but let her thoughts wander. Five years in the care of a man who was raised to abuse people into complete submission. There’s no telling what atrocities this girl, Olivia, had seen.

 

“Ok, so how do we get to them? Being attached to a crime leader at the hip won’t mean  approaching her casually. If they’re always close, she’ll never be alone. And he doesn’t seem like a talking type.” She said in Reddington’s direction, she herself gazing on the girl’s image.

 

“I’ll give Nikolai a call. And you’ll give her mother a call.”

 

“Her mother? She’ll be a liability to the case. Look here, it says her mother is a school teacher.” Ressler protested while reading a file.

 

No one questioned how Red would call the crime lord. His seedy connections with the worst of the worst was something to be expected now.

 

“A reading interventionist, there’s a difference, Donald. The Semenovs almost always chose foreigners as victims, thinking since their family is outside of the country, the victim will never see them face to face again. To shake up Olivia’s forced programing, she needs a taste of home to offset the bitter taste of Nikolai.”

 

He made a damn amiable smile to the room.

 

“If you look at dear Alicia’s facebook, she makes a fantastic peach cobbler I’m sure her daughter hasn’t tasted in quite some time.” 

 

Deftly placing his hat on his head, Reddington started to make his way to the door.

“It’s about time Olivia find her Southern comfort roots again. Be ready with her mother in 3 days, then we fly to Moscow.”

 

୦୦୦

 

The bus station was ordinary in every sense of the word. Nothing to raise suspicion, no person surrounding her unfamiliar. 2:47 in the afternoon. Olivia was speaking to a classmate about the lecture, the only thing that gave away the man behind her and the needle in his hand was the slightest focus of the classmate’s gaze over Olivia’s left shoulder.

 

The needle was fast acting, and no fuss was made. She never made a sound louder than a gasp. Olivia’s knees buckled, and she was scooped up like a baby bird. A tender hand brushed the hair from her eyes. A quick glance around the group was all it took to reset the scene. Most didn’t even look up from their phones. The classmate she had been speaking with smirked. 

 

“ _ How soon do you think the wedding will be?”  _ She smarted off in Russian.

 

_ “You forget who you speak to.”  _ The man replied. She only shrugged.

 

_ “Send me an invitation.” _

 

With Olivia cradled in his arms, Nikolai Semenov himself slid into a sleek black car and peeled away from the bus stop.

  
  
  
  
  


Olivia struggled to consciousness as the light in the spacious room was flicked off and the mattress next to her dipped low, and a pair of arm entwined her waist. Soft and warm. The air outside the sheets and blankets and tightly wrapped arms was cool against her exposed back as the covers that had pulled back to let another enter.

 

Arms didn’t seem right.

 

She didn’t sleep in the nude.

 

And certainly not with someone else.

 

Waking was so hard, swimming through molasses. She couldn’t focus her gaze, like her point of view was operated by a shaky camera operator. Her groggy mind slowly compared it to highway hypnosis, something she experienced often.

 

Following this train of thought, she forced herself to focus her eyes on her fingers in front of her face. A few minutes of eternity staring at one spot and breathing deeply brought an edge back to Olivia’s vision.

 

“Don’t wake quickly,  дорогой. Tomorrow. Now you need rest.” a low, rich voice rumbled at her back.

 

Olivia jumped at the voice, the arms around her waist instantly tightening, clutching her to a broad chest at her back.

 

“Who. Who’re you.” She mumbled, tense and anxious, feebly pushing at his hands.

 

“Nikolai. Please, sleep a little longer.” A marbled face found its way to the hollow below her right ear, pressing a languid kiss to the warm skin.

 

She only struggled more, pressing her heels into his shins, head stretching away from his lips. A grimace of drugged up confusion and fear marking her face.

 

“Noooo no no no I don’ know you lemme go ple _ -ase _ .” The hitch in octave with her last word sent a wave of heat to curl in Nikolai’s belly. The word and voice of her submission made his blood twist and coil with desire.

 

Nikolai let her struggle, the drugs still in her system subdued her once again. Once her limbs were once again limp and relaxed, he allowed himself to gently turn her onto her back. 

 

Taking in her exposed chest, belly, collar, hips, he lavished kisses of worship onto every inch of skin he saw in the midday light. The flight from the states had been long. The travel from a major city to the isolated location they were now had taken just as long.

 

All the while, she had been in his arms, so close. It had taken every shred of self control to contain himself. Years of planning and pining had led to this day, where they could be together.

 

But the process was long and arduous. To preserve anonymity and discretion took time. Required many people to be paid, back roads to be driven. Men to rendezvous with. And a perimeter to thoroughly check before allowing himself to see his intended fully in the flesh.

 

As per tradition, his beloved was to spend the first night of her journey exposed to him. Her mind would wake exposed with it when she truly awoke. 

 

But it was torture. After baring her, he had to step away to compose himself, keep his hands from betraying his cause. It didn’t keep him away long, with her first signs of waking, he hurried to her side. Turning the light and settling blissfully beside her.

 

She continually impressed him. Her instincts told her to wake, and she did. Her instincts said to fight with all her abilities, and she did. But eventually, she submitted to him. As she would until her death, or his.

 

He loved her already.

 

His  Оливия.

 

His Oliviya.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what this will turn out to be. Edits to come, I guess? I'm also testing a new writing style, much more simple than Beta Testing, my other work.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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